


In My Veins

by lovedeterrence



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 15:32:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4569747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovedeterrence/pseuds/lovedeterrence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McDonnel Miller reflects on what once was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Veins

**Author's Note:**

> this hurt like hell to write. 
> 
> "in my veins" by andrew belle reminds me a lot of them ugh if you want bbkaz music listen and die with me.

__

> _oh, you’re in my veins and i cannot get you out. oh, you’re all i taste at night inside of my mouth._

McDonnel Benedict Miller was what he went by now. Kazuhira was a name he did not feel belonged to him anymore. Though it was what he was called for a majority of his life, “Kazuhira” felt more like a stranger’s name. A word for peace in Japanese was not what he could ever truly identify with, even at this point in his life when he was supposed to be the most at peace.

Though born from a Japanese woman, he never felt to be a part of the race. And though he was supposed to be at peace after leaving his former life behind and taking on a job of training rookies, it never felt right.

Big Boss was a monster, but Miller was no angel. He had earned a place in hell right beside him.

A wry expression formed on his face as he thought back to his old boss. To everyone else he was just “Miller.” Rarely did anyone call him Kazuhira, let alone “Kaz.” He could hear him calling him “Kaz” so clearly in that gentle yet needy way that prodded at his heartstrings. Miller felt a twist in his stomach. He never wanted to hear another person call him Kaz again.

He walked away from Big Boss, ridding himself of what remained of his identity, but he left his soul behind and he would never be able to get it back.

Miller trained his son. Their voices were eerily similar, and there were times where Solid Snake would say something to him and Miller’s heart would leap into his chest. He would turn around expecting to see the facial hair and the eyepatch, the war ravaged face and the miserable striking blue eye ravaged from life. But instead he would see the son of his former commander, not quite as damaged. The young man with good in his eyes and a serious expression on his face. And Miller would mentally berate himself for even allowing a flashback to resurface at this moment or at any moment, for all he wanted to do was block it out.

His apartment in Alaska was cold, as he had not bothered to turn on the heat. The whiskey in the bottle he downed would be all that he needed to keep him warm enough. He stood up, leaning on his cane as he walked over to his bed. He sat down, peering at the nightstand. He opened the bottom drawer, knowing this was a bad idea, but not being able to pull himself away.

After shuffling around in the messy contents, he found a pair of cracked aviators, almost identical to the pair he was wearing. The originals were shattered in a futile attempt to escape the past. It was childish, snapping them in half, but when he remembered Big Boss placing them ever so gently on his face, he felt them crack in his hand.

So many times those sunglasses got pulled off before Big Boss kissed him. He knew Miller had issues with intimacy, and the other man wanted to prove to himself that Kaz was his and would not allow anyone else to strip him down that way. It was the truth. He sat in silence with Big Boss, sunglasses off, while the other man puffed at his cigar, sharing a drink or several. Big Boss would fuck him, make love to him, fingers locked in his hair, gazing deeply into Miller’s eyes before going down to bite his neck. Afterwards, they would lay side by side.

Sometimes Boss would roll over and wrap his arm tightly around Miller, and he was often unsure of whether it was out of love or codependency or just a desire to feel whole, but he always went with it. He would bury his face in his neck and drink him in, allowing his pulse to carry him to sleep. Even when he had nightmares every night after Afghanistan, his pulse would help steady Miller though both men had lost their ability to properly sleep.

Miller gulped and put the sunglasses down on his nightstand with a sigh and another gulp of whiskey. He continued to go through the drawer, finding things that made his heart pang with each object. There was a yellow scarf, and memories of Big Boss taking his uniform out on missions for laughs flashed through his head. A guitar pick taped to a photo of him on the beach in that stupid speedo, strumming away. The picture was taken by Big Boss on one of their excursions and Miller had a stupid smile on his face.

When was the last time he smiled?

After his home went up in smoke, he didn’t think those muscles in his face still worked properly. Captured and tortured and amputated, unable to do anything but wait. Day after day. But then Boss came to the rescue. He took Miller’s face in his hands, the familiar fingers brushing against his cheeks. He had never felt more relieved and ashamed all at once. Those strong arms, though one was metal now, carrying him, holding him. And Miller felt pathetic for needing him and even more pathetic for feeling so comforted by the touch, by knowing Big Boss was taking him to safety. And that since Boss was here Miller would not fall to any harm.

And after that, it all went downhill. The cracks that were already there grew larger, and whatever was between them fissured.

Miller opened a file to find a collection of photos. Big Boss in Kaz’s scarf. Big Boss wearing Kaz’s sunglasses, holding the camera and facing it to take a shot of him kissing Kaz’s cheek. Kaz taking a picture naked in bed with the Boss, his arm wrapped around him, face in that crook of his neck and Kaz swore he could still feel the heat radiating from his skin and the sound of his pulse even today. Photos of Kaz posing on the beach or ones of him playing air guitar. More of them kissing, or just ones taken by other soldiers on the base of them standing side by side.

This was supposed to be their world. They were supposed to survive and see the new age together. But Big Boss was gone, probably decayed and eaten by the worms by now. And though McDonnel Miller was here, Kaz’s spirit was with Big Boss and he would never get it back.

Tears streaked down his face underneath the aviators that he had taken to wearing around the house now. A normal person would say that there was no one to hide from, but there was a reason why Miller didn’t have any mirrors in his house. The tears fell more and he threw the now empty whiskey bottle against the wall, not worrying about stepping on glass as he did not plan on leaving his bed tomorrow.

He curled up on his bed, wishing that there was a familiar arm to wrap around him and pull him close as he sobbed out the few shards that remained of his shattered heart.


End file.
